


What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

by reindeerjumper



Series: College Years [1]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Baby Bridget, Baby Mark, College, EARLY 90s, F/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Kiss, Tropes, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8935645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: It's been almost 6 months since Mark and Bridget had met outside of her parents' house. Now that Mark is home for the holidays, he's thinking about what Bridget might be up to. He's surprised to find, though, that she's thinking the same thing of him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little New Year's Eve jaunt. Inspired by the song [What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UcTAcKGD1Vg%22). Been struggling to get this one done, so I'm posting without actually going through it with a fine tooth comb. Hopefully there aren't too many mistakes :) Also, I had to include my favorite trope, which is where Mark is always picking stuff out of her hair like a monkey.

It had been six months since the last time he saw her. He still sometimes mulled over the entire situation, slightly bemused about how he had even come upon her. If it hadn't been for his hometown mates, dragging him to a bar at 10:00 at night, he probably would have never even seen her. The thought of her body hanging out of her bedroom window still made him smile, and he was finding his palms sweating whenever he caught a whiff of strawberry shampoo. 

Living in London was working out for Mark beautifully. Even though many of his fellow law interns were hot-blooded and irrational, eagerly anticipating their moment to shine in the courtroom, Mark was the opposite. He was content with sitting back and doing the paperwork that was given to him. He would mill about the perimeters of the room during meetings, simply listening to the conversations at hand and observing the best approaches to different arguments. His superiors often commended him on his level-headed demeanor, and soon offered him more opportunities in the courtrooms than his peers. 

At first this seemed to alienate Mark from his fellow interns--their competitive nature made them view Mark as a threat and they excluded him from different social gatherings. Soon, though, they realized that he was more of a resource than a threat. After a few weeks of eating lunch by himself with a novel, Mark was invited to the local pub for a pint after work. 

His peers were nice enough, and they ended up taking him out on several occasions into the city. Where several of them puffed up with machismo and peacocked around the bar, Mark usually just sat off to the side and observantly sipped his Guinness. Sometimes a cute girl would approach him and they'd awkwardly converse, but Mark never took these young ladies home. Just the idea made him feel sleazy and cheap, and on more than one occasion Mark parted ways with his group on the sidewalk as his colleagues walked away with arms slunk around the tiny, taut waist of some girl they had picked up. 

Mark had obviously met some very pretty girls during his time in London, but no one had really rung his bell. This was probably due to the fact that Mark fancied Bridget. It wasn’t something he readily admitted to himself, and hadn’t breathed a word of to anyone, but he found himself thinking of her frequently. It seemed that the thought of Bridget Jones bubbled to the surface  _ especially _ on nights he went out with his colleagues. 

Every waiflike, wide-eyed girl that floated past him in a bar made his want to see Bridget even stronger. These girls would press up against him, the smell of Calvin Klein’s Obsession filling his nostrils, the long waves of their hair teasing his forearms where he had rolled up his shirt sleeves, and Mark would feel nothing. Sure, a blush would creep up his neck at the attention, but it wasn’t the kind of attention he wanted. What he craved was a bit more...substantial. Less flirtatious glances and more raucous conversation.

Since moving to London, Mark hadn’t returned to Grafton Underwood in months. He had moved into his tiny flat in August and hadn’t seen his parents since. On December 23rd, he returned home to his parents’ estate with a suitcase in hand and an uneasy anticipation roiling in his gut. Being away from Grafton Underwood kept some distance between he and Bridget, and now that the distance had closed in on him, he was feeling antsy and conspiratorial. On more than one occasion in the 48 hours from his arrival, Mark found himself wondering just what Bridget might be up to. 

The day after Christmas, Mark was working absentmindedly on some paperwork he had brought from London. He knew that he wouldn’t be entirely busy during his time home, so he had figured that bringing things back to his parents to work on would be in his best interest. He could hear his mother in the kitchen, bustling around, and his father was probably in his study reading a book. The phone rang, echoing throughout the Darcy’s home. The shrillness of the phone bounced off the marble floors and echoed down the long hallways. Mark didn’t make a move to answer it--his mother was probably the closest one to answer. 

As if by clockwork, he heard his mother lift the receiver in the next room and say, “Darcy residence, Elaine speaking. Oh! Hello, darling! How are you? ... Oh, yes, I’m fine, very fine. We had a lovely holiday … And how are you? Your parents? … That’s wonderful to hear. Will you be at their Turkey Curry Buffet this year?”

At these last words, Mark’s entire body tensed up. There was only one person in the entire world he knew whose parents threw a Turkey Curry Buffet. Hesitantly, he pushed himself away from the dining room table where he had his paperwork sprawled out and stood up. 

His mother continued. “Oh, bless you! I’m sure your parents appreciate it so much. … What was that? … Mark? … Actually, yes, he is here. Would you like to speak to him?” 

Mark felt cold dread course through his body. He wasn’t expecting this...for her to be calling his childhood home, speak to his mother, and then  _ ask _ for him? How in the world was he going to talk to her without the weight of his mother’s eyes on him or the million questions she would surely ask afterward? He took a deep breath and began to count to ten. He hadn’t even gotten to seven yet when he heard his mother calling for him.

“Mark? Mark! Phone is for you, dear!”

He cleared his throat and responded, “Thank you, mother. I’ll take it in the sitting room.”

With that, Mark crossed the marble hallway from the dining room to the formal sitting room and quickly grabbed the phone. 

“Hello?” he said.

“Mark, is that you?” He heard his mother’s voice.

“Yes, mother. I have it. Thank you.” Mark heard the receiver click off, and a small giggle on the other end.

“Hello, Mark,” Bridget said. Her voice washed over him in a way that he hadn’t anticipated. It rolled over him from head to toe and rolled back up to settle warmly in his stomach. He smiled in spite of himself.

“Hello, Bridget. What can I help you with?”

“I figured you were home for holiday--I figured I’d give your parents’ house a try. Sorry if it’s really awkward that I’m calling.”

Mark smiled and closed his eyes. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m glad you called.” The heat under his collar rose. 

“Well, I was actually calling to see what you’re doing this New Year’s Eve. I’m sure you have some posh plans back in London, but if you don’t, a few of my friends and I are heading to the local pub to celebrate. Thought you might like to join us.”

Mark was blindsided by the offer. He cleared his throat, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “Actually, um, I hadn’t really thought about New Year’s Eve. I had planned on heading back to London tomorrow, but, um, well, I don’t have any actual plans to return to. I just figured I would head back early…” He trailed off, cringing at how utterly lame he sounded. 

“Oh,” Bridget responded. “It’s nothing incredibly fancy or formal...just a few of us celebrating the new year with drinks and a few laughs. I totally understand if you don’t want t--”

“I would love to.” Mark cut her off so abruptly that he had even surprised himself.

“Oh! That’s wonderful, Mark! We’re going to meet up at The Rose & Crown in Islip around 9. I’ll see you then?”

“Actually, Bridget, wait. Would you, um, like me to pick you up? I can be the designated driver or whatever...I don’t drink much and it seems ridiculous to spend money on a cab.”

There was a beat before Bridget said, “I mean, that would be bloody fantastic if you really don’t mind. Would you mind if my friends Shaz and Tom come with us?”

“Isn’t Shaz the one whose party you were going to this past summer?”

“Yes, that’s her. And Tom’s my friend from uni...he’s spending holiday with us this year. Between you and I, he came out to his parents and they...didn’t take it so well. So I offered to have him come to Grafton Underwood for Christmas. You’ll love him. He’s a pisser.”

Mark smiled. “Sounds good to me. I’ll be at your parents’ around 9.”

“Wonderful. See you then, Mark. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Bridget.”

Mark set the receiver back down gently, and ran a hand over his face.  _ Bloody hell,  _ he thought to himself. Before he could think twice, though, a grin spread across his face.

 

* * *

 

On New Year’s Eve Day, Mark spent much longer than he normally would getting ready. He made sure that his shave was as close as possible, and he spent an extra few minutes making sure that the soft, curly mop of hair on his head wasn’t as unruly as it could be. After much deliberation in front of his closet, he finally settled on a pair of black corduroy pants and a white button-down with a black and red fair isle sweater on top. Giving himself one more glance in the mirror, Mark decided it was about as good as it was going to get and walked out of his room.

Elaine Darcy knew that Mark was on his way to pick up Bridget, but didn’t make a fuss when he asked to borrow the car. She simply handed him the keys and said, “Of course, darling. Have fun. Be safe. Happy New Year,” and then pecked him gently on the cheek.

The ride to Bridget’s was too quick and went on forever simultaneously. By the time Mark glided up to the curb out front of her parents’ house, his hands were sweating and his heart was thumping. It was 9:00 on the dot, so Mark parked the sedan and crunched up the walkway. Snow had fallen the night before, and everything was crisp and stark, the streetlights and moon reflecting off the white mounds and making 9:00 PM seem like midday. 

His breath puffed out in front of him as he awkwardly stood on the front steps of the Jones’s home. He shrugged his shoulders up around his ears, trying to catch some of the heat leaking out of the collar of his peacoat, but it was really to no avail.  _ I can’t stand here all night, _ he told himself. Raising a hand to knock, Mark gave himself one last push. He heard his knuckles rapping on the front door echo out around the neighborhood around him, and then a voice on the other side of the door. 

“ _ Bridget! Hurry up! Mark’s here and you still aren’t dressed yet! You don’t want to give this poor boy the wrong impression! For all we know, he might want to marry you one day! Now  _ **_move_ ** _!”  _

Mark felt himself grimace just as the front door flung open. He was face-to-face with Pam Jones, who had a huge, luminous grin on her face. “Hello, Mrs. Jones,” Mark said, quickly recovering from the mortification of what he had just heard.

“Mark! How absolutely wonderful to see you! Please, come in, come in!” Pam Jones ushered him into the foyer of their house, placing a hand in the small of his back to navigate him inside. “Bridget will be down in just a moment. Can I get you anything?” 

Mark shook his head as he said, “No, thank you.”

“Very well. I just want to say how wonderful it is that you called Bridget up to ask her out. I’m sure your mother is just as excited as I am about the whole thing.”

“Well, actually, Bridget called  _ me _ , not the other way arou--”

“Either way, it’s all very exciting. She used to run around your lawn naked, you know. It’s almost as if this was supposed to happen. And to think--you’re going to be a  _ barrister! _ Such a fine line of work to get into. Very noble and righteous.”

Mark could feel the blush rising on his cheeks as he struggled to find the words. His voice, instead, came out more of a squeak as he barely managed to say, “Um, well, yes. Didn’t know about the lawn thing, but I  _ am _ going to be a barrister, yes.” 

Thankfully, at that exact moment, Bridget bounded down the stairs with her two friends in tow. Mark felt his heart catch in his throat at the sight of her. Her blonde hair still fell in incandescant waves around her face, but she had cut a fringe into it between the summer and now. The fringe framed her face, making her eyes seem even bluer than he remembered, and she was clearly wearing a bit more makeup than the last time he had seen her. A blush ran across her cheeks, and her lips were a tantalizing shade of berry. She was wearing a boxy, baby pink cropped sweater and a black skirt in a matching pink floral print. Mark allowed himself a quickly glance down at the skin showing itself underneath the hem of her skirt--in lieu of tights, Bridget was wearing a pair of black knee socks, pulled up over her knees so that there was a few inches of thigh showing. Mark felt his mouth go dry, and he cleared his throat.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” she said shyly, stopping on the bottom step to leave her hand on the top of the bannister. “Ready to go?”

“I am. You look...you look wonderful,” Mark continued. He felt like he was in a time warp. Part of him wanted to spout off sonnets, and the other part of him had no idea what to say.  Bridget blushed and said, “So do you.” Mark saw her two friends make eyes at each other behind her back as Pam Jones let out a small whine of excitement. 

“Shall we....get going?” Mark said, gesturing towards the door. 

“Yes, let’s.” Bridget descended the last stair with her two friends behind her, and she approached Mark until they were inches apart. He forgot how blue her eyes were, and they sparkled from beneath her fringe. His heart caught in his throat.

“Have fun, darlings! And be safe!” Pam Jones tittered as she came around to each of them to peck them on the cheek. She left Mark for last, and as she pulled away, she kept her hands on his upper arms as she beamed at him. “Make sure to take care of my little girl!”

Mark cleared his throat and nodded. “I wouldn’t dream of anything else,” he said awkwardly. Bridget’s mother’s smile didn’t waiver as she patted him on the arms before stepping back with her hands clasped beneath her chin. 

Bridget was getting into her coat, while Shaz and Tom pulled on theirs. As soon as they were all bundled, Bridget led the way out the front door with a quick wave to her mother, and Shaz, Tom and Mark followed suit. 

Once they were on the front stoop, Bridget turned back towards the trio and said, “Mark, this is Shaz and Tom by the way. Tom, Shaz, this is Mark.” The two friends smiled at him almost knowingly and he swore he saw Tom wink at him. 

“Very nice to meet you both,” Mark said, offering his hand to both of them. Tom took it eagerly and pumped his hand up and down, and Shaz looked at his hand first in disbelief before taking it in her own. 

“Likewise,” Shaz said, eyeing him sideways with a hint of a smile. “This your car?” She gestured towards the Mercedes parked on the curb, and Mark felt his cheeks flush.

“My parents’, actually. They let me borrow it. I don’t have a car since moving to London.”

“Ah. Very posh,” Shaz continued, looking over to Bridget who rolled her eyes. 

Mark chose to ignore the exchange and said, “Shall we?” He made his way to the driver’s side of the sedan with the three friends in tow. They all piled in, Bridget in the front seat next to him, and Shaz and Tom in the backseat.

The whole ride to The Rose & Crown was awkward, with the four of them making small talk. Well, small talk wasn’t quite the term--it was more Shaz and Tom grilling Mark with questions while Bridget awkwardly squirmed in the front seat. Mark handled himself rather well, he thought, considering he hadn’t prepared himself for the barrage of questions.  _ They’re just looking out for their friend,  _ he said to himself.  _ They’re being good friends. _

When he finally pulled up outside of the pub, Bridget unzipped her coat and slid it off. Seeing the confusion on Mark’s face, she said, “No need to bring it in...it’ll just be cumbersome. It’s OK if I leave it here, isn’t it?”

“Of course, of course,” Mark replied, turning the ignition off. Bridget flashed him a smile before climbing out of the car. Mark didn’t even have a chance to get the door for her.

The four of them walked into the pub, and Mark shrugged his coat off once they were inside. Thankfully it wasn’t as crowded as he had thought it might be. There was a good throng of people milling about with drinks, and a Michael Jackson song was playing on the jukebox in the corner. The pub was cozy inside, the total opposite of the London bars he had found himself frequenting over the past few months. An old red, leather couch sat in front of a fireplace, and scrubbed wooden tables were scattered throughout the room. Someone had strung multicolored fairy lights haphazardly around the ceiling, giving the room a warm, intimate glow, and Mark could hear different groups of friends roaring with laughter or singing fight songs.

Bridget led the way in, claiming the red couch as theirs. Mark laid his coat over the arm of the chair, double checking to make sure his wallet was in the pocket of his corduroys before turning to them and saying, “First round is on me. What will everyone have?” 

Ten minutes later, Mark returned to the couch to find the three of them squeezed onto its red cushions. He was balancing a vodka club for Shaz, a whiskey and ginger ale for Tom, a red wine for Bridget, and a lager for himself. He passed them out expertly to the group, and they all gave him thanks with much enthusiasm. 

“Here, Mark,” Bridget said, squeezing in closer to Tom to make room. “Sit here.”

Mark cleared his throat before taking a seat next to Bridget. He could feel the warmth of her body next to his, and he immediately felt himself begin to sweat. He took a long sip of his beer to help calm his nerves, which helped...until Bridget turned towards him.

“We were just talking about  _ Silence of the Lambs _ ...have you seen it?” she asked him. Mark, however, didn’t hear a word she said. Instead, his breath was completely taken away. Her eyes were intently gazing into his, and the fairy lights around the room make them sparkle. Her lips were full, and open in a questioning pout, but one that made him completely hungry to kiss her. He could feel Bridget’s thigh pressed against his, and the smell of her perfume and shampoo was emanating off of her. 

Suddenly, Mark felt Bridget’s hand on his thigh. He shook his head almost imperceptibly before saying, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” He could hear Shaz give a snort of laughter and Tom dip his suppressed grin down towards his drink.

“ _ Silence of the Lambs _ . Have you seen it?”

“Oh, no. I haven’t. I haven’t had much time to go to the theater lately, with work and the like.” 

“Well, you really must. It was absolutely  _ incredible. _ A total thriller from start to finish. Shaz nearly wet herself when we went.” To this, Shaz gave a disgruntled, “Oi! No I didn’t!” which left Bridget and Tom giggling. Mark couldn’t help but join them.

The rest of the night was a blur. Someone bought the next round of drinks, and then they were dancing to the music coming from the jukebox. At one point, Mark stood outside with the three of them while they had a cigarette break, and he offered Bridget his coat while doing so. She politely declined, claiming the alcohol was warming her just fine. Once back inside, there was flirting and more drinking and each of them disappearing for a few minutes to either grab more drinks or talk to an acquaintance they spotted across the bar.

Before Mark knew it, it was nearing midnight. The anticipation in the pub heightened as people started to throng together in familiar groups, lest they end up kissing a total stranger when the clock struck twelve. Mark was sitting on the arm of the couch, and Bridget, Shaz and Tom were squeezed back together on the cushions. 

Mark was looking down at Bridget, observing her hand gestures and memorizing her laugh as she animatedly talked to her friends. He couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face as he watched her. She lit up the room, her personality bigger than anyone else’s around her but with a certain level of reservedness. She wasn’t obnoxious or ostentatious. She simply commanded the attention of those around with a smile and a story.

Suddenly, from across the bar, someone shouted, “Thirty seconds!” Mark saw Bridget’s eyes light up as she twisted her body around to look for where the voice had come from. Soon, the entire bar was in an uproar as the countdown approached midnight.

“TEN!...NINE!...EIGHT!...SEVEN!...” The whole bar was practically shouting the numbers in unison, and the sound was deafening. “SIX!...FIVE!...FOUR!...THREE!...TWO!...ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Someone had apparently brought in a set of bagpipes and were now playing “Auld Lang Syne” loudly while another group of people engaged confetti poppers. All around them, people were laughing and grabbing each other, kissing their friends on the cheeks or passionately ringing in the New Year with their partner. 

Mark watched as Bridget kissed Tom square on the lips, to which he jokingly grimaced and wiped his mouth before pinching her on the bottom. Her and Shaz then gave each other a kiss on each cheek before cheersing their drinks and knocking back whatever was left in their glasses. Mark could feel anticipation roiling in his gut as Bridget stood up to face him.

“Happy New Year’s, Mark,” she said with a smile. 

“Happy New Year’s, Bridget,” he replied. 

There was a beat before Bridget leaned in and gently brushed her lips against his. Mark’s brain exploded in fireworks at the touch of her lips against his. He didn’t want the kiss to end, but he didn’t want to be awkward. He let her pull back before he made a fool of himself. Mark looked into the deep pools of Bridget’s eyes and smiled. She returned the smile shyly before taking his hand in hers and giving it a squeeze. 

“Next round is on me!” Mark suddenly heard, and he looked past Bridget to see Tom leaning over to get their orders. Shaz was standing next to him, holding her drink in both hands and looking smugly at the both of them. “What are you all having?” Tom continued, clearly too intoxicated to really notice what had just happened between Bridget and Mark.

Bridget looked back towards Mark before saying to Tom, “Same as before will be fine.” Tom winked at her and gave her a thumbs up before tottering off to the bar, pushing his way through the throng of people who had gathered around the bagpipe player. 

Shaz then said, “I’m going to pop into the loo real quick. Be back in two shakes.” She winked at Bridget before disappearing into the crowd.

Bridget turned back around to look at Mark, and he quickly wiped his hands on his pants in nervous anticipation. Bridget looked down at her drink before placing it on the coffee table by the couch and said, “I could use a cigarette. Care to join me?”

Mark nodded his head and said, “Sure, I’m game.” He followed Bridget out the front door, his hand tentatively on her hip to help guide her through the patrons of the pub. She opened the front door and a gust of cold air rushed to meet them. He could feel her shiver as she crossed the threshold, and he tightened his grip on her waist as he followed her out. 

It was much quieter outside, albeit freezing, and Bridget wrapped her arms around herself as she turned to face him. Mark looked up towards the sky, marveling at the stars that twinkled in the clear, winter sky. He wasn’t sure what to do, now that they were alone. The electricity from the kiss Bridget had laid on his lips was still crackling in his blood, and he was afraid that if he made eye contact with her, he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

“The sky is amazing tonight,” he said lamely, shoving his hands in his coat pockets.

“Mmm, that it is,” she replied through chattering teeth.

At this, Mark couldn’t help looking at her. The glow from the pub window cast light onto her face, and he could see her eyes sparkling in the darkness. The roundness of her cheeks was flushed, and she now had her hands up by her chin to blow heat into them. 

“Here,” Mark said, not even bothering to offer this time. He took his coat off and laid it around her shoulders, thankful for the heavy knit of the sweater he was wearing. Bridget pulled it around herself, snuggling into it and smiling at him. “Better?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Much,” she replied. “It smells like you.”

Mark hadn’t expected this response, and before he could stop himself he said, “What do you mean?”

Bridget pressed her nose against the collar of his jacket, closing her eyes for a second. She looked back at him and said, “It smells exactly like you. Like soap, and aftershave...and just a hint of cinnamon.” 

She had him pegged. He cleared his throat and said, “Very accurate. The cinnamon Tic Tacs are in the pocket, if you want one.” Bridget grinned at him and fished them out of his coat pocket. She poured two into her hand and popped one into her mouth before offering him the other. 

“So  _ that’s _ why you smell like cinnamon,” she said, her eyes sparkling once again. Some of the confetti from the poppers was stuck in her hair, and it caught the light whenever she moved. Mark couldn’t help thinking that she looked like magic, standing out in the darkness but still somehow managing to give off light.

“Guilty as charged,” he said sheepishly. The cold night air was cutting through him, despite his sweater, and he couldn’t help lifting his hands up to give them a rub to ward off the cold. 

Bridget watched him before saying, “Care to join me?” She had opened up the front of the peacoat, indicating to Mark that he was more than welcome to share the heat inside it with her. 

“Oh, I couldn’t. I’m fine, really. Thanks,” he said awkwardly. 

Looking a little crestfallen, Bridget pulled it back around her. “Y’know,” she said, “I meant for that kiss to last a little longer in there. Everyone was looking, though, so I didn’t want to impose…”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Mark replied with a smile. “It took me by surprise, but it was rather quite nice.”

“Mark, I like you,” Bridget blurted out. She grimaced at her own explosive confession, shutting both eyes and dropping her head. “Didn’t mean it like that. Forget I said it.”

Mark, emboldened by the drinks he had consumed, took a step forward. 

“No, no, go on.” 

Bridget looked at him. She took a deep breath, clearly weighing the options in her mind of continuing or not. Finally, she said, “I like you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met this past summer.”

Mark felt a rush of blood in his stomach as his synapses fired across his brain.  _ She likes me.  _ He took another step closer to her and reached out a hand towards her hair. He pushed it back off of her face before grabbing at a piece of confetti that was stuck there. 

“Seems you have some, ah, confetti in your hair,” he said in a gravelly voice, picking at the star-shaped glitter piece. Bridget lifted her head up to look at him, her lips slightly parted. “No worries, though,” he continued, sliding his thumb along her jawline before cupping her cheek. “I took care of it.”

Mark felt Bridget’s breath hitch in her chest as he leaned down and planted a kiss on her lips. It wasn’t feathery soft like the one they had exchanged in the pub. Instead, it was more fervent, more urgent. He pressed his lips into hers and snaked his hands around her waist, pulling her body into his. Bridget kissed him back, her mouth soft and supple beneath his. He could feel her arms up around his neck as her hands played with the soft curls of his hair, and she softly moaned into his mouth as he slid a thumb underneath the fabric of her sweater. 

The kiss started to turn more passionate as teeth nipped at lips and tongues ran over each other. Mark hadn’t kissed a girl like this in years, and he had never kissed a girl that he liked as much as he liked Bridget. He brought his hand back up to her face, angling his chin to better get at her mouth. Her breath was labored and hot against his cheek, and he could feel her grabbing the front of his jumper in two fists and pulling him closer to her. 

Finally, they broke apart, panting heavily and looking at each other. Mark leaned his head towards hers to rest his forehead against her own. He dipped his eyes down, his hands still wrapped around her waist and her hands pressed against his chest.

“I like you, too,” he murmured. “I’ve liked you since I met you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you, either, and when you called me earlier this week, I felt like the luckiest person in the world.” He bit his bottom lip, surprised at his own confession. Mark never wore his emotions on his sleeve like this, but there was something pure and comforting about Bridget that made him leave his guard down. He wanted her to know everything about him. 

Bridget lifted her hands up to cup his face, and Mark lifted his eyes to look into hers. She kissed him chastely once more on the lips. 

“Bloody hell,” she said with a laugh. “The Turkey Curry Buffet tomorrow is going to be all abuzz about us.”

Mark couldn’t help laughing along with her as he stood up straight. He held her in his arms, and she laid her head on his chest. She was almost an entire foot shorter than him, and Mark liked how perfectly she fit under his chin. He leaned his head down to plant a kiss on the top of her head, and he felt her give him a squeeze in return.

“So, where do we go from here?” he murmured into her hair, running one of his hands up and down her back while she snuggled into his chest.

“I suppose back inside. It’s fucking cold out,” she replied.

Mark chuckled and pulled her in closer. “I meant in general,” he said.

“Oh, let’s not think about that right now. It’s all too complicated, what with you in London and me up at Bangor. Let’s just enjoy tonight. I’m still rather tickled that you like me and I’d rather not muddle it all up thinking about logistics and what ifs.”

She had a point. Mark placed another kiss on the top of her head and said, “Fine by me. Shall we head back in, then?” 

Bridget pulled back to look up at him and she nodded. 

“Yes, let’s.”

Mark put an arm around her waist as they walked back towards the front door of the pub. Bridget leaned against his shoulder and his olfactory senses were assaulted by the smell of her shampoo. He was looking forward to smelling that more often.

Before they walked back over the threshold, Bridget stopped and looked up at Mark.

“Thank you for a wonderful New Year’s,” she murmured. 

Mark smiled down at her before placing a kiss on her lips. “No, thank  _ you.” _

As they reentered the pub, Mark Darcy couldn’t help thinking to himself that 1991 was shaping up to be the best year yet.


End file.
